


When the Day Comes

by teaceylon



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Brocedes, Imagining the day LH44 considers retirement, Lewis POV, M/M, More like Lewis monologue, No Action
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-12
Updated: 2019-10-12
Packaged: 2020-12-13 20:30:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21003722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teaceylon/pseuds/teaceylon
Summary: He remembered. All the glory, all the hurt. How they've shared kisses, knowing the other was the one and how they've come to hate what they have become.





	When the Day Comes

He was surprised that the first thing came to mind was the morning he shared with Nico when they were 15.

When brisk morning breeze waved through the window, and they were all weary eyes after a full night of terrible TV shows, pizza war and drowning in beers. They’ve talked so much about the possibilities in F1, how they would be standing on the podium together, how they’d be world champion one day, and their cheeks flushed with excitement, eyes shined with hopes for future, lips too close that he could feel Nico’s breath.

He remembered the prickling sunburn on his arm where the shadow of curtains could not reach, the smell of dry air mixed with sea salt on his lips, and the touch of new callus on the palm of Nico’s hand, as they laughed nervously and tentatively scratching each other’s palm, so light that it was almost ticklish.

Even til this day, his heartbeat involuntarily sped up when thinking back. It was so close yet so far away.

Now he sat at the balcony watching over the sea, all the contract papers and legal notes scattered on the table, pages flipping by the same wind through the window. He hadn’t read in a single word, his mind constantly rewinding to the smell of the citrus shampoo Nico used to use, the cool oceanic fragrance on those Hugo Boss suits, and how Nico’s blonde locks felt so soft when they lay on the bed and he would brush through his hair with his fingers.

He wondered what it felt when people made the decision.

Do they contemplated on it for a long time? Do they sit in the dark, tracing shadows? Does their past come back to haunt them, or do they relive their youthful and happy memories? How do they step out of the cliff, into something unknown?

Did Nico do the same? Did Nico even think of him when he was about to make the final call?

It was still too early in the morning, arguably still at night, and the room was dark, some street lamps alight, all-night yacht party faraway somewhere on the horizon glitters, and he could only vaguely make out mountain ridges across the bay.

Lewis has sit there for hours, mobile phone in hand, turning on and off the screen, looking at the familiar, yet never-called number the thousandth time, and the trophy he last won sitting on the shelf, shining as ever.

He had just won it, won so many, a couple of weeks ago, a couple of months ago, a couple of years ago, all the glory, the excitement and adrenaline still roaring, so loud and echoing in the quiet room, in his brain. Yet when he blinks, all was silenced to the present, and he’s faced with reflections on the smooth metallic surfaces.

He had so many cherishable memories.

The national anthem, sticky victory champagne on his skin, and fans waving flags that swept through his face. The excitement when entering the corners and speeding exits, the highs when pushing through the chequered flag, the precision of clutches, brakes and mechanical responses of the car.

How he loved adding just a bit of pressure, feeling the traction pulling, and squeezing the competitors, overtaking in inches, feeling the wind rushing through his body, as if all he needed to do was to hold out his hand, and he could touch ‘speed’, tangibly.

Those moments too quick to grasp, and too long to be preserved, sealed in ‘eternity’.

He had so many regrets.

The emotional outbursts after lost races, the harsh words and punches at the walls. The mistakes and humiliation, the angry moves and violent crashes, the frustrated cursing.

Those he-could-have-won moments, the lost battles and the title slipped through his fingers, haunted his dreams, always just an arm’s length, but the shining ultimately out of reach and dissipated into the dark.

He wanted to say that he had not looked back on how he hurt the loved ones, the insults, the tricks and dirty moves he pulled to drag them down, the bad press that cuts and bleeds.

The lost innocence when he thought he just needed to grab the steering wheel to catch the speed; all these years, the games and politics he has become so skilled at, the behind the scenes degradation of his opponents, the evil triumph he managed to step over with least integrity.

Everything. All he had clutched so strongly in his hands and lost in the end.

The honor, the bleeding cuts, the ecstasy and the loss.

And Nico.

How everything all came down to that simple two syllables, Nico, how he loved and regretted the man.

He remembered when they’ve used up all the mind tricks, hit each other in the face, shouting and swearing. And that they would slap one another and make up with rough hate sex leaving only wounds and bruises and no comfort, ending with fatigue so heavy that crushed their shoulders.

Those frustrating nights when he had wished they had never known each other, so that he would not feel so hurt and lost, and the disappointment in both of them, to who they once were and who they have become.

It was too much that he started to hate himself for loving and hurting Nico.

Yet he remembered the kisses and Nico’s breath on his skin. He would nimble his earlobe, squeeze his hand, mumble the most indignified jokes that made them both laugh. So hot and so warm, always tingles his soul.

And in the mornings when Nico’s blonde hair shined innocently, so smooth and beautiful, each embrace so loving and tender, his eyes filling with stars, looking into him like they were the only ones who truly knew each other, and that Lewis could not help but whisper into his lips “let’s make this work”. 

Lewis could not stop thinking, if they had made it through, would there be a different present?

Would he wake up happily in Nico’s arms, and they would have walk Coco on some anonymous beach, kiss under the scorching sun, bask in the forever happy story ending?

In those imaginations, they were always happy. He wanted to see Nico smile. And he wanted to be the reason of his laughters.

He still does.

Nico, he sighed. Trailing words and unfinished sentences.

They have grown apart and become so different. Sometimes he could not understand Nico’s voice in the vlogs, or even recognize his own reflection in the mirror, feeling estranged.

_Is the championship worth it?_

— Yes. With the weight of the trophy, and the name inscribed in history books. Our whole lives depending on grasping that one moment to be alive.

_Are we worth it?_

— Who are ‘we’ to start with? The innocent 15-year-old pizza boys, the complicated lovers or the frustrated cap-throwing immature racers?

_Is this how we imagined all to be?_

— Yes. And no.

_Would you have done things differently?_

— No. And yes.

And it is in mornings like this, he could feel Nico’s presence in him.

He has a million numbers to call to consult the matter. Jensen would’ve suggested him to relax and enjoy Californian sun, Fernando would want to start a new racing category with him, and he could even get Kimi a message, just doubting he would ever receive a reply.

But none of these is anything he wanted to hear. He stared at the number he had not used for years.

It was always Nico, closest to him, who he had spent the best times in his life with, who would relate and share the emotions. At the end of the day, he had to admit that he and Nico still has the same, essential soul that had never changed since they were kids. And he needed someone to confess to. To tell that the fearless and invincible Lewis Hamilton is lost, facing the blankness in front of him and not knowing what to do.

Strangely, like a self-fulfilling prophecy, somewhere back of his mind, he felt that he had been waiting for this day to come, and that at this exact hour, he would finally and inevitably call Nico.

Because Nico would understand.

He closed his eyes, secretly cursing himself to be so weak and giving power to the man who dictated his mind, living in his head rent-free, living on complicated love and hate emotions and still going strong.

He wanted to tell Nico that he will not apologize, ever. But he also, so badly, wanted to hold the blonde and kiss away their quarrels.

A few pages of final season proposal contract flies through the window. But Lewis can’t bring himself to care.

He tapped in the numbers.

It’s 04.30am in the morning. He thought to himself. And if Nico does not pick up because of the absurd hour, he could totally understand, and would also save himself from the embarrassment, and that he could make excuses, saying that he had tried, it just isn’t……

“……Hello?”

But of course. Nico had to pick up. Like fate was playing a game on him.

He knew the voice. Nico being sleepy, still half-dreaming, and he would wear this ridiculously cute and clueless expression, completely unguarded, nothing like the stiff media display. Lewis used to love it so much, like he was the only one privileged to see Britney the princess like this.

“………Lewis?”

Lewis kept his eyes shut, didn’t dare to make any noise, and even breathing seemed too loud at this moment.

He could see Nico rubbing his eyes, sitting up in bed and ruffling through his hair, trying to keep awake — he half hated and indulged himself for knowing the other man’s routine so well.

“…hey man, I’m sorry for calling in this inappropriate hour. I mean, god it’s four o’clock. I’m really sorry, just hang up, it’s nothing.”

“Lewis, it’s fine. You called for a reason.”

It wasn’t until this moment that Lewis realized that he had been hunching his back, shoulders strained so tightly and he was under so much pressure, from things he didn’t even know.

He could feel tears welling up, and he had to sit up and cover his face with his palm to stop the sudden outburst. It was as if his guard and walls came crumbling upon hearing Nico’s voice weaved with concern.

And it was all too much at once. His life, his career, his love for racing, his history suddenly too real.

“Lewis, are you okay?”

“…I don’t know man. I mean this is…just too much…I really don’t know how to……”

There was a long pause, and both he and Nico didn’t voice anything. But he didn’t want to hang up, and Nico mercifully stayed on the line.

“………it’s going to be alright.” Eventually Nico talked.

Lewis instinctively wanted to counter back bitterly that the other man knew nothing, how could he be so judgemental and give an answer so lightly.

But Nico also sounded so sincere. No lies, no mixed emotions, and the voice so clear and crisp, the same tone and the same soothing effect that always brought him down to earth since they were kids, teenagers, teammates, rivals and enemies.

“Man, you don’t know. Maybe I’ve got it all wrong, and I shouldn’t have called you…”

“Lewis, it’s me. You don’t need to hide, say or do anything you don’t want.”

“……I don’t know. I don’t……I don’t even know how to begin.”

“It’s fine, Lewis.”

He could hear Nico opening his window. And it’s so childish for him to think that it was a bit sweet that they were breathing the same air.

“I’m here. Take as long as you need. I’ll be here, for you.”

Nico sounded so calm. And Lewis felt something settling in him. All the while staying on the phone, and he could hear them both breathing.

He could see the sun rising from the horizon, dampness of the night retreating, faint golden streaks beaming and reflecting on the ocean. Perhaps those heavy legal words would also just fly away and disappear. Perhaps all these years, all the past and present would just melt in this moment.

He finally allowed himself to start sobbing uncontrollably.

**Author's Note:**

> Oh I love the Brocedes, their love and hate.  
Part of me want them to make up. Part of me feeling that perhaps parting ways would also be a good story line.  
I love how they connected and loved each other (before the civil war), and they could be such evil queens / princesses / brats.
> 
> As always, please be generous on the run-on sentences and grammatical mistakes...(i really don't know, should it be all in past tense or...?)  
It's challenging to write in English (2nd language), and I hope I've got the feelings across.


End file.
